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Addict
Join Date: Nov 2004
Posts: 182
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The Voice
I really enjoyed writing this, thanks for reading!
It was morning in suburbia, just after the mad rush to work. Besides the occasional whizzing of automated sprinklers and the chirping of birds, everything was fairly quiet. In the driveway of one house a tallish, black haired man got in and out of his car repeatedly. Like a broken record, he climbed in, put on his seatbelt, took it off, climbed out, and straightened his suit.
“Going to stand out here all morning, John?” asked the voice. The voice was always accompanied by a sickening feeling in his stomach, like someone squeezing his balls too tight. It sounded especially vindictive today, “Keep this up and they’ll lock you away for sure.”
The man looked down at his briefcase. ‘John Greb, Attorney at Law’ it read in small, gold stitching near the handle. ‘Just in case they miss the sixty-thousand dollar Jaguar,’ he’d joked with friends not two weeks prior. “I need to go to work. Please, let me go to work,” he muttered under his breath. Every attempt to drive away was met by an overwhelming urge to vomit. He had to control his emotions; the voice always knew what he was feeling. “At least let me go for a drive,” he whimpered.
It obviously appreciated his groveling, he had control again. “Where to, John?” asked the voice. “What sounds fun to you, besides loading your bank account? I mean, really, why not cut the middleman and commit the crimes yourself?” It had started a week ago. At first it was just a nagging commentary, berating him over his last victory; double homicide, a guy accused of smothering his wife and daughter. He’d had serious doubts about the guy’s innocence, but he managed to discredit enough evidence to win the case. Now he had a full-blown poltergeist of a guilty conscience to deal with.
John took a few deep breaths; he had to keep his emotions in check. “I just want a coffee,” he said loudly. He didn’t care who watched him talk now, they’d just assume he was on the phone. Behind his empathic wall, he was working on a way to free himself of the voice. It had too much control, it was getting stronger.
He backed the Jag out of the driveway and started towards his local coffee haunt. The roads were nearly empty, and thankfully free of red lights. A mother walked a baby carriage on the sidewalk up ahead. “Look John, here’s your big chance,” chided the voice. His hands were no longer his own. With a slight adjustment of the wheel, the car slipped over the white line and edged towards the curb.
“Oh, Jesus Christ, don’t do it!” John yelled. His heart was in his throat, his blood stopped and boiled. The car was almost to the sidewalk, the woman stopped to pull up the sun visor on the carriage. His feet were locked in tight, the foot on the gas pedal was steady; the rest of his body thrashed violently in the seat. Just as slowly, the car eased itself back into the middle of the lane. He relaxed. His traitorous hands and feet were taking orders again.
“I’ve got big plans for you, John,” said the voice. They started over the bridge to town; the river sixty feet below was swollen from spring rains. “Big big plans, Johnny baby,” the voice repeated.
Tears were running down his face. “Why are you doing this to me?” he blubbered. Inside, it was hard to control his excitement. This was it, his freedom was at hand. He took the car past seventy and jerked the wheel sideways, the Jaguar smashed through the rusting guard-rail and vaulted out into space.
“For this,” replied the voice.
__________________
"Me and Mike, ve vork in mine,
Holy shit, ve have good time.
Vunce a veek ve get our pay,
Holy shit, no vork next day."
- Kurt Vonnegut
- Slaughterhouse-Five
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